The Dark Lord Remembered
by holbein
Summary: When reading the last pages of Deathly Hallows I was wondering like most I imagine how people would cope once the euphoria of Voldemort's defeat wore off and the business of rebuilding began. So I wrote this short chapter. Its only 900 odd words, but ther
1. Chapter 1

The Dark Lord Remembered

An eerie quiet pervaded the corridors and common rooms of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. It was a sunny weekday afternoon in June and where usually one might hear the sounds of students returning to classes from lunch in the great hall, now there were only hushed whispers from a huddled group at the hall's doors.

Less than a week earlier on the very same spot the scene had been one of joy mingled with grief. People cried for their lost loved ones, ate to regain their strentgh. Many danced, others threw themselves into each others arms, some just stared into space, dumbfounded by what had just occurred. But most were crying tears of joy. Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most terrible dark wizard in living memory, had been defeated. Right now though, the mood was sombre.

The students had been sent home after the battle. Those taking OWL and NEWT exams would be given time to study at home while the castle was repaired and exams would commence in July.

The group continued to whisper hurriedly to each other, so lost in their conversation that most failed to notice the loud banging noise coming from behind the large doors of the entrance hall. "Quiet! All of you!" came the stern voice of Professor McGonagall, "He's coming". The other teachers instantly fell silent and looked to the entrance hall doors as the banging noise drew nearer. Professor McGonagall waved her wand in a sharp sideward motion and the doors swung open. They could see a large wooden cart trundle up the final few steps and then enter the hall. The cart was followed a second later by the hulking form of Rubeus Hagrid. He stopped in front of the group.

"Hullo all" Hagrid greeted the teachers, and he waited for their murmured response, before noticing the two visitors from the ministry of magic. "Kingsley, Percy. Nice to see you". Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded silently by way of reply. Percy Weasley smiled weakly. "Right, lets get started shall we? Is it still in the same spot?". Professor McGonagall nodded and Hagrid and cart set off. He returned a couple of minutes later. Now the cart was filled with a black bundle, roughly the size of a man. Hagrid proceeded through the entrance hall doors and the group followed him without a word. They walked through the grounds and out of the gates, in the direction of Hosmeade.

Everyone was glad that the road was deserted, for it was a grim procession. The teachers bowed their heads as they walked, not out of grief, but something closer to shame. Birds scattered from the trees as they passed, further down the road a rabbit retreated through a bush. Nature, it seemed, was also shunning the event. It was a tribute to his terrible power that, even as a crumpled corpse, Lord Voldemort elicited such deep disgust.

They were now in the grounds behind the shrieking shack. Twenty feet from the back of the house stood a massive wooden pyre, made of wood and stuffed with dry grass. The party stopped a safe distance from this new structure and waited. Nowone seemed sure how next to proceed. Hagrid was the first to speak.

"Harry should be here. He should be the one te do it. After all the trouble thrown his way. Someone should apparate to him an'...". "No" came McGonagall's voice in response, "Potter's been through enough. He needs to rest. He'll be just fine at the Weasley's".

With that Hagrid took the dark bundle containing Voldemort's remains and began to drag it, roughly, towards the pyre. He was half way there before he heard someone yelled "stop" from the group behind him. He turned around to see McGonagall running towards him. "Hagrid, if I may.." she said and without another word she loosened the ropes keeping the bundle together with a flick of her wand. A lifeless, snake-like head lolled out from behind the cloth and both McGonagall and Hagrid recoiled sharply. Its eyes, once so bright red and evil, were as dull as the sky in January and its skin now hung soft, shiny and putrid. McGonagall waved her wand once more the the bundle re-tied itself. "I just needed to be sure" she said and then turned to walk back to the group.

The sun was getting lower in the sky. The body now rested upon the pyre and Hagrid had returned to stand between McGonagall and his cart. Once more, nobody seemed certain of what to do, or how to start. Hagrid began to speak in a low voice. "Excuse me Headmistress" he began. "If its alrigh' I'd like to be the one who does it. I know its nothin' compared to the big stuff but he was the one who got me kicked out of Hogwarts an'...". "Very well Hagrid" came McGonagall's reply. She almost looked relieved.

Hagrid nodded his thanks and took two steps forward. From inside his coat he drew a pink umbrella and pointed it forwards. "INCENDIO" he boomed and a second later the pyre was ablaze. They watched in silence as the fire hissed and crackled until there was nothing left but ash and ember. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the first to speak.

"May we never see another like him" he said before saying his goodbyes and then apparating away with Percy. Hagrid got behind his cart once more and began in the direction of Hogwarts. The rest of the staff followed, walking slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

Nurmengard

Sommer was looking around his office, trying to ignore the cold dread that was building in the pit of his stomach. He tried to stare at a fixed point on the door opposite his desk, when that failed he tried to stare into space. Most of all he tried not to stare at the clock standing on one side of his desk. Despite his efforts he couldn't help but steal a quick glance: 6.29PM. Any moment now the Chancellor for Magic was going to arrive, sit down in front his desk and dismiss him.

He thought back to happier times. In his younger days Sommer had been an auror, the best in northern Europe. It was a tense time in that part of the world; Grindelwald had been defeated and imprisoned ten years previously but everywhere was abuzz with rumours of a conspiracy. Grindelwald's remaining followers, it was said, were hiding themselves in prominent positions; preparing a coup that would end in their master's release and rise to power. Others talked of the conpirators plans to break into Nurmengard and force their former leader to reveal the location of powerful artefacts. There was even talk of the conspirators being allied with a clan of Norwegian vampires!

As one of the more junior aurors at the time, Sommer had shown remarkable zeal and uncanny magical skill; within a year he had found and rounded up several of Grindenwald's more powerful former allies in a series of spectacular duels. Still recovering from severe injuries, he insisted on conducting most of their interrogations personally and, again, with a skill that belied his age, worked his way steadily to the truth.

The so called 'conspiracy' was a myth, given greater weight than it deserved by a nervous public. Those whom Sommer had tracked down were indeed still involved in the dark arts, but each indepentently of the other. It seemed that there was little room for co-operation between the old comrades when all wanted to be the new master.

Suddenly, Sommer became something like a celebrity. Too physically drained to continue in his present position, he was discharged from the Aurorkorps with full honors. There was a public ceremony. People cheered their throats raw. "Where were you ten years ago?" someone roared good naturedly. "At school!" he replied. Sommer was still only twenty six years old.

With his new found status and encyclopedic knowledge of the magical arts it wasn't hard for him to fulfill his next ambition. For the next fifteen years he tought charms, and later potions, at the prestigious Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery. The world of academia proved kind also; during this time he published several very well received papers on multi-lingual spell casting, among other things.

Then came a great surprise. Summoned outside his classroom during a potions lessen Sommer was surprised to find himself standing in front of Klaus Eisenhut, the Chancellor for Magic. The prison of Nurmengard needed a new warden. That warden, if the Chancellor got his way, was to be Sommer. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but at the same time knew his answer already: yes. This would be his finest achievment. He had apprehended some of the most powerful dark wizards of recent times as an auror and educated thousands of young minds as a school master. Now here was a chance to combine those two skills to one spectacular end: the rehabilitation of dark wizards.

The new warden's sucess was surprising, even for a man like Sommer. Through his methods several inmates came to express regret for their actions. One of them, Daniel Timm, was even deemed fit for release. This was extremely significant. People sent to wizard prisons for serious offences were usually expected to live out their lives there. Sommer again found himself a celebrity, praised for his academic, yet kind, method of prisoner treatment.

The sucess was never repeated however, and although nothing ever went wrong at Nurmengard, the now customary zeal with which Sommer attacked every challange had begun to fade. He sank into routine.

Sommer snapped back to the present. It was no good to dwell on past glories, it just made what was to come infinitely worse. He looked across the office to where Vuori, the assistant warden, was standing, his eyes fixed on the ground. He never could tell what Vuori was thinking, or read his expression. Neither could anyone else though, and that was what had made him so useful over the years. He had been a loyal companion.

There was a knock on the door and Fadnes, the night clerk, appeared. "Chancellor Eisenhut to see you sir". Eisenhut entered. He was tall, portly and stern looking, dressed in dark robes from head to toe. He did not sit down, choosing to pace the up and down the office instead.

"Hello Otto. You know why I am here". "Yes", replied Sommer with an air of resignation.

"Why? Why this farce? How on Earth could you have hoped to hide this from me?"

"I was never going to hide it, I was..."

"Lord Voldemort broke into our prison, performed a killing curse and now Grindelwald is missing! Explain!"

"If I may..." began Vuori, "Voldemort broke into the tower holding Grindelwald and was heard to use a killing curse upon him. In the rush to get to the scene several guards claim to have also heard a summoning spell uttered. By the time the guards managed to reach the cell there was no trace of the prisoner. He was assumed to have been obliterated until much later, when the guard who was nearest to Grindelwald's cell noticed his own wand missing. A search of the immediate area turned up no trace of it. We then came to the conclusion that the prisoner was not killed, but freed, and that he and his accomplice attempted to make it look as though he had perished."

Vuori went on, "Chancellor I assure you, if we had known straight away that this was an escape we would have informed you immediately. As it stands we thought it was merely a matter of cleaning up Voldemort's mess".

"Thats all well and good Mr. Vuori" replied the Chancellor "but regardless, I should have been informed of any breach as soon as possible. It doesn't matter what the reality of the situation was, what matters is how it _looks_ and I have to be honest gentlemen, to the outside eye this would look like a very shoddy cover up on the part of some desperate officials."

Vuori had no reply, Sommer knew what was coming now.

"I'm sorry Otto, but it's the end of you. Effective immediately you are dismissed as warden of Nurmengard."

Sommer nodded.

The Chancellor did not utter another word, but turned his back on the pair and went on his way. Sommer was still silent, staring into space.

"I'm sorry sir", said Vuori after a minutes silence. Sommer did not reply. He stood up, walked around his desk to where Vuori was standing and laid a hand on his shoulder. It seemed to the assistant warden as though his master had aged twenty years in the space of just a few minutes, his former vitality now completely spent. A few seconds passed before Sommer, head bowed, spoke again. "You've been nothing short of excellent Esa. These past few years it feels like you have hardly left my side". He looked up now, tears were running thick and fast down his face. "I will miss you".

Otto Sommer shuffled to the door and left his office for the last time, looking bent, broken and older than ever.

"It has been a pleasure sir" said Vuori to the empty office.


	3. Chapter 3

Last Laugh

For the second time in less than a year, a large congregation had gathered at the Burrow. The first gathering had been a (mostly) happy occasion, cause for celebration. This was different. The last black robed stragglers shuffled through the kitchen door, grateful to get out of the late afternoon sun. The kitchen and living room were full to breaking point with guests, all dressed in black. The late comers took the remaining glasses of firewhiskey from the kitchen table. For the second time in less than a year a crowd raised their glasses in a mournful toast.

"To Fred" chorused Harry along with the others, before finishing his glass in one gulp. Beside him Professor McGonagall had already finished her own glass and on his other side Hagrid was draining the remnants of a large tankard. Behind him, he knew, stood some of his former classmates, Neville, Seamus, Dean and Luna, among others. Harry looked over at the opposite side of the table to where Ron stood, his eyes downcast. He and Hermione were side by side, each with a hand held tightly by the other; fingers entwined. Ron's head was bowed almost to the point where it rested on her shoulder and Hermione, in turn, rested her head upon his.

To their right stood Ginny, a hand on her mother's shoulder, looking slightly worried. Mrs Weasley was sobbing silently, her face buried in her husband's chest. Gradually she regained her composure and gave her daughter a little smile. It was then that Ginny noticed Harry looking over at her, and gave him a similar smile. Harry found himself feeling surprisingly reassured.

The funeral service had taken place earlier that day, at the little graveyard in Ottery St. Catchpole. Though it would take place on a Monday afternoon when most muggles were working, Hermione and some others had been there the previous evening, setting protective enchantments around the site, so as not to be interupted the next day by unwanted attention. It seemed strange to Harry that in the wake of something so monumentous and tragic as Fred's death, that mundane realities like the statute of secrecy even had to be considered, but he knew it was for the best.

Mourners began arriving just before one o'clock, apparating inside the cemetary gates and then proceeding to the burial site. Fifteen minutes later a sizeable throng surrounded the grave, at the head of which, Harry noticed, stood the small tufty haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding. Harry knew that he must be busy these days, and hoped it would be some time before he had to see him in an official capacity again.

It was Ron who delivered the eulogy, standing beside his brother's coffin. Beneath their grief, those closest to the family watched with some interest, Ron had always been overshadowed by the rest of his siblings and people seemed genuinely interested in how he would remember his brother.

"Whatever we may be feeling-", he began, "-however much we rack our brains wishing it had gone differently, or think to ourselves 'if only he'd been somwhere else', one thing is certain. Fred Weasley now belongs to that most elite of groups, that is, people who have laid down their lives fighting evil. Fred died so that people like him, like us, could live in a world that was fair and good."

Ron continued, talking of Fred's exploits, both alone and along with his twin brother. He was speaking, with a smile, about the swamp in a corridor of Hogwarts that Fred had helped to conjure, when Harry heard loud, squeaky sobs from nearby. A quick glance around was enough to work out where they were emanating from. Professor Flitwick could take no more and had broken down when the swamp was mentioned. McGonagall was crouching down to comfort him. Meanwhile Ron drew to a close.

"I was there at the end" he said. "His last act was to laugh at a joke my brother Percy made. He left this world with a smile upon his face. That's what sums up my brother most of all; smiling in the face of Voldemort's hordes. He wouldn't want us all huddled together like this, crying. He'd want us to remember him as he was, and have a laugh."

The crowd erupted into a tumultuous applause. Ron stepped away and rejoined his family, each of whom hugged him before he returned to stand at their side. George was smiling widely at him, tears running down his face. Someone in the crowd shouted "Here, here!"

The mourners settled down now and the tufty haired wizard drew his wand. The coffin rose from where it had been resting and was lowered gentley into the ground. Mrs Weasley began to raise her own wand, but suddenly decided against it, instead choosing to take a handful of soil herself and throw it onto her son's final resting place. Harry remembered with a jolt the digging of Dobby's grave back at Shell Cottage, the small sense of purpose given to him by manual labour. He knew, on some small scale, how Mrs Weasley must be feeling. The tufty haired wizard raised his wand again and less than a minute later the coffin was completey buried. Fred Weasley was gone forever.

There had been plates of food laid out after the toast, a sort of informal dinner. Most of the mourners had departed after the meal, but a sizeable group remained on. The mood was still rather somber. Despite his own words at the graveyard, Ron appeared quite sullen and was still in the same spot at the kitchen table, still clutching Hermione's hand as if he feared what might happen if he were to let go. Ginny was sitting down in the living room beside her parents, comforting her mother. Mr Weasley held his wife's hand; he had kept his composure throughout the day, but now as he relaxed tears began to flow freely down his face. Despite this, he looked rather serene, Harry had thought. George was talking quitely to Lee Jordan, the twins' best friend at Hogwarts.

Harry was in the garden now, alone. He felt a little twinge of guilt leaving a funeral, but everyone inside had someone to comfort them. Meanwhile Harry hadn't had a moment to himself since that night over a week ago, in the great hall. He began to stroll, relishing the chance to be alone with his thoughts.

"Mind if I walk with you Potter?" came a voice from behind him. "No, of course not" replied Harry, and he and McGonagall set off around the garden. He would have to muse later. McGonagall spoke.

"How have you been keeping this last week?"

"Good. Better than good. Relieved."  
"I'm glad to hear it."

There was silence for some time. Harry was the one to break it.

"Professor-" he began, tentatively "-I've been meaning to ask...his body. What did you-"

"It's been taken care of. I had considered informing you, but decided you have been through enough. You deserve a rest, Harry"

He looked up at her, quite shocked. Harry couldn't remember a time when McGonagall had ever addressed him by his first name. It was always "Potter". McGonagall gave him a kindly smile.

"Anyway, we can discuss all this when you return in September."

"Professor?"

"You didn't think we weren't expecting you back, did you Potter? You did a bunk for your entire seventh year, and however noble the intentions behind that bunk I'm afraid I can't abide three of my finest students not completing their education!" She was as close to grinning as Harry had ever seen her.

"So Ron and Hermione-"

"Of course" replied McGonagall.

Harry's face broke into a wide smile. In all the confusion and relief and tragedy of the last week, he had never dreamed he would ever return to Hogwarts as a student. It was if he had thought the end of Voldemort meant the end of his education. He had to remind himself now that an education was the reason for attending Hogwarts, not defeating Voldemort, despite the fact that it had often felt like the latter.

The sun was beginning to set now. They had almost finished their lap of the garden when Harry heard a wonderful sound coming from the house: laughter.

As he entered the living room he saw that Lee Jordan was recounting a particularly humorous adventure of Fred's for the benefit of those assembled. Hagrid was sitting on the floor, his chortling echoing around the room. Professor Flitwick was sobbing, but this time with mirth as opposed to grief. He leaned, heaving, against one of Hagrid's knees before losing himself to another fit of giggles. Even Mr and Mrs Weasley seemed to have cheered up. They weren't laughing but now, at least, they both wore a smile.

"Harry!" piped up George, "We were just talking about a few of Fred's dirtier deeds. Come on, sit down" he said, gesturing to the end of the couch that we was sitting on. Harry crossed the room and sat on the couch, next to Ron and Hermione and before he knew it someone had thrust a butterbeer into his hand. Sitting accross from him, still beside her parents, was Ginny. They made eye contact and she smiled. Harry smiled back. On another couch, to his left, sat Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy and standing beside them were Professors McGonagall and Sprout, just a short distance away from Hagrid and Flitwick. On Harry's right some of the old Gryffindors and Luna sat, cross-legged on the floor.

"Now where were we?" said George. "Of course, Lee, continue."

Lee Jordan instantly launched back into his tale. It wasn't long before the entire room was doubled over with laughter again. Fred Weasley was gone forever. But he was remembered.


	4. Chapter 4

Escape to Muggle Britain

Harry was sitting alone in the room he had rented in a muggle bed and breakfast. He was listening to the news on television, more out of habit than interest, since the only reason he had ever watched the muggle news was to glean news of Voldemort. Still, there was an item that had made him smile.

"_...go now to our enviroment correspondent Jill Hodges._

_Thanks Ted. The so called 'owl plague' that has gripped the nation over the last few weeks seems to have finally abated. Experts are still at a loss to explain the sudden surge of daylight activity in these normally nocturnal creatures..."_

The late afternoon sun was shining through the window and onto Harry's face, prompting him to get up from the foot of the bed and pace around.

He was feeling a bit better now that he'd had some time alone to gather his thoughts. The Burrow was proably his favourite place in the whole world after Hogwarts but there was too much going on, not just the funeral but ministry people, order members, letters constantly being sent back on forth. Harry assumed that the case was the same all over wizarding Britain. A war had just ended; people woulg be sending messages to their loved ones to make sure they were ok, muggle borns would be coming out of hiding, the ministry had a magical infrastructure to rebuild and aurors and order members would certainly have to round up remaining death eaters. There was more to do than just celebrate and mourn.

It was well after twelve o'clock before the last few guests had left the Burrow. Neville, Seamus and Dean had been invited to stay at Luna's recently repaired home, saying their goodbyes before apparating outside the gates (Luna had not taken her test yet and so hung on to Dean). Ron, Hermione, George, Ginny and Harry were the only ones remaining, sitting at the kitchen table. They had switched to drinking tea an hour previously, after becoming tired of the endless butterbeer and firewhiskey that had been making the rounds all night. The only exception was Ron, who still held half a glass of butterbeer on the table in front of him. George was the next to leave them, signalling his impending exit with a strech and a yawn. He exchanged a smile and a meaningful look with Ron before moving in direction of his old bedroom. It had occurred to Harry that this was probably the first time he would be sleeping there by himself.

"What was that about?" said Harry, enquiring after the look George had given to Ron. "Was just saying thanks I suppose" came Ron's reply. "He was supposed to be giving the eulogy but this morning he told me he couldn't face it, so I took over."

"It was a lovely speech Ron" said Hermione, placing her hand on top of his.

"Thanks"

"Well I suppose someone should start clearing all these bottles and glasses away" said Ginny, getting up from the table.

"I'll give you a hand."

Harry followed Ginny into the living room where she had begun to seperate glasses from bottles, levitating them to their respective piles with deft swishes of her wand. Hermione had gotten up to boil water for some more tea. From her position at the sink she saw Harry and Ginny exchange words. All of the empty bottles had vanished now. The pair were both smiling at each other now and it was a while before Hermione realised that she was now watching them locked in a tight embrace. Feeling slightly guilty, she rushed the kettle into position over the fire and rejoined Ron at the table.

The kettle was whistling by the time Harry returned. Hermione jumped from her chair and came back a minute later with a fresh pot of tea. Ron spoke.

"Ginny gone to bed?"

"Yeah" replied Harry

"What were you two talking about?"

"Well, I was just saying...I'm probably going to leave for a little while"

Both Ron and Hermione looked up sharply.

"What? What do you mean? Where are you going to go?" said Hermione.

Harry smirked at the memory of his two best friends shock now. After explaining that he just wanted to feel normal for a while after seven years of being the chosen one, to take a holiday of sorts, they had both settled down. He paced accross to the television (the news was now reporting dragon sightings over Sunderland) and switched it off.

He had intended to do some of the muggle things he had most wanted to do as a child, but had been prevented from doing by his aunt and uncle. So far however, he had done nothing. In fact all Harry had done so far was sleep in the muggle bed and breakfast in Godrics Hollow by night and by day visit the places where his gruelling seventeen year quest had begun. He was about to leave once more for his parent's graves when a loud crack caused him to spin around, wand in hand.

"Whats up!" said Ginny, grinning. Harry lowered his wand and let out a relieved sigh. "Hi" he replied "Should you be apparating before you've even taken the test?". Ginny grinned wider now, "Nah, ministry's too busy with important stuff at the moment, shouldn't think they'll care too much. Shouldn't you have been in London by now? I thought you wanted to go to the..." she paused and read from a piece of parchment in her hand "...kinema?"

"Cinema" said Harry, correcting her pronunciation, "Yeah I did but I got sort of side-tracked"

"You mean you've been brooding"

"What? No, I've..." Harry was not sure what had delayed him going to London. He had meant to stay only for a night in Godric's Hollow before moving on, but it had been a week already and he was no closer to London.

"...just wanted to make sense of it all I suppose"

"Whats there to work out? Between you and Dumbledore you solved it all, not to mention the fact that you finished him..."

"You wouldn't understand" said Harry abruptly

"I understand perfectly" replied Ginny, her eyes widening dangerously, hands on her hips, "For the first time in your life you don't have a mission to carry out, you're not the chosen one. You've nothing pre-occupying you, so you're touring the old haunts because you can't figure out what to do"

"I..." began Harry, before realising that he had no reply

"I'll figure it out for you: you're free now. Your new mission is to be normal; go to school, have fun, whatever"

There was silence for a minute as Ginny's words sunk in and Harry suddenly felt silly. He'd been moping about Godric's Hollow for almost a week, when all around him life was going on and people were rebuilding their lives. Then a realisation hit and a surge of panic and shame hit Harry at the same time.

"Oh no, I haven't missed..."

"No, it's tomorrow..." interupted Ginny, her face more solemn now "...that's why I've come looking for you".

The next day brought weather uncharacterisically dull for early July. Another group of mourners filed into another graveyard under a sky the colour of iron. The whispered conversations usually found before funerals could not be heard today; everyone present was silent out of respect, and grief, for the sheer enormity of the loss. At last everyone had settled into place and all eyes turned to a veiled woman standing with her back to them, alone. In front of her were three coffins, and beside them were three freshly dug graves.

Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys stood a few rows back from the front of the crowd. The tufty haired wizard whom Harry was so used to seeing by now took his position at the front of the congregation and began to speak. A sharp wind battered the gathering and people strained to hear what was being said. The woman at the head of the crowd seemed to be taking no notice of him, or the weather, for she remained as she had been all along, head bowed. A light drizzle was starting to fall and the breeze sent it flying sideways, into people's faces. Still, Andromeda Tonks remained completely still. It seemed to Harry as though it was taking all of her strength not to break under the weight of her grief. It was a few seconds before he realised that the wizard had stopped speaking.

Harry and Ron now stood in a corner of the Tonks' living room. Everyone who had returned to the house seemed to be huddled together in small groups, whispering quietly, as if they were afraid their voices might cause an echo. Three eulogies had been given; Professor McGonagall, who was now talking to Hermione, had spoken about Remus and Kingsley about Tonks. When it came time for Andromeda to speak about her husband she had managed a couple of lines before her resolve crumbled and she began weeping openly. Nobody had seen her since arriving at the house.

Ron spoke.

"Poor Andromeda, I can barely imagine..."

Harry shot him a puzzled look.

"I know, I know what its like to lose someone, but to lose everyone..."

Harry was frustrated. He kept thinking of Andromeda and then of Voldemort, laughing from beyond the grave. It made him feel weak, powerless. He was beginning to shake at the very thought of it. Ron continued.

"..and then have to raise your grandchild, completely alone"

"She won't be alone" said Harry, a little too sharply, "Not while_we're_ here"

"Of course, you know I didn't mean that, its just...she has no family left. No husband, or daughter or son-in-law. I'm sure mum and dad will help out, but you just can't replace family, can you?"

"No" replied Harry "No, you can't"

With those words he left Ron standing in the corner and began towards the staircase to search for Andromeda. He payed no attention as he passed Hermione and McGonagall whispering purposefully to each other. Arriving at the upstairs landing he looked around until he noticed a door that stood ajar. Slowly, he pushed it open further, entering gingerly.

Harry looked around, slightly amazed. He was in a nursery. The walls were baby blue, with ornate enchanted figures painted upon them at intervals, scenes from fairy tales he assumed. One paricular scene he noticed immediately, that of three brothers confronting death. It began with the brothers conjuring a bridge in order to cross a river, only to have the figure of death appear before them on the other side. After this the scene would reset itself and play again. All accross the walls fairy tales played themselves out in a similar manner. Looking up at the ceiling Harry saw that it was bewitched in the same manner as the great hall in Hogwarts, only instead of reflecting the weather outside this spell showed a clear sky of the most brilliant blue.

"Nymphadora spent weeks in here"

Harry jumped, startled, and turned around to see Andromeda Tonks sitting in an armchair by the window, little Teddy asleep in a cot by her side. Her eyes, usually heavy and lidded were now red and puffy.

"I told her to rest, but even while nine months pregnant she wouldn't stop until everything was perfect. Spent hours up here, tweaking the spells"

"It is perfect. Its beautiful" replied Harry, still a little shaken.

Andromeda tried, and failed, to smile

"You haven't met your godson yet, have you Harry?"

"N-no"

He walked over to the cot and peered over the edge. There, sleeping peacefully, was little Teddy Lupin, his hair a vibrant shade of pink. He turned back to Andromeda, feeling nervous and unsure of what to say next.

"I...I want you to know that anything you need, any help, just let me know"

"Thank you Harry"

A silence followed that made Harry begin to feel awkward. He felt he should be saying something to help but no words of comfort came to him. Finally he spoke.

"I'm so sorry...for your loss"

"Th...thank you Har.."

At that moment Teddy awoke and began to cry. Without thinking Harry scooped him into his arms, rocking the child gently back and forth until he was asleep again. Still the sobbing continued. Placing Teddy into his cot he turned back to Andromeda, who was beginning to speak.

"I...I j-just want to see them again" she sobbed, shuddering uncontrollably. "I w-wish I could have said g-goodbye., told them how much I l-loved them. Thats all". She began sobbing harder, making her words incomprehensible. Harry was shocked. He knew he must help somehow, but he didn't know what people did in these situations. He stood, terrified, rooted to the spot. At that moment the nursery door swung open and in rushed Professor McGonagall. She sat on the arm of Andromeda's chair and laid an arm around her.

"Its okay, let it out dear, its alright"

McGonagall look up at Harry, and for a second he thought he could see a trace of pity in her face. He felt useless, angry. Why could he not make Andromeda feel any better, how was he supposed to help? He turned to leave the room in shame but something made him stop dead in his tracks. He stood transfixed as the three brothers on the wall opposite him conjured a bridge over a river and confronted death incarnate. Somewhere, in the forrest behind Hogwarts, though Harry, lay the resurrection stone. Somewhere in that claustrophobic mass of trees and undergrowth was a way for Andromeda to say goodbye to her family.


	5. Chapter 5

Glory

It was almost closing time and the cashier in the duty-free shop looked around at the remaining customers. In one corner a group of Danish people were loading a trolley with more than copious amounts of wine and beer, no doubt taking advantage of the cheaper German prices. Nothing new there. The other customer, a dishevelled old man, would be a pain. He'd first visited the shop in the middle of summer and now, as september was beginning, there hadn't been a period of two days in which he was not to be seen, shambling around the aisles. "He'd better not start rambling on again or I'll be here till morning" the cashier thought.

Presently the Danes approached the counter, paid for their items and left. Behind them waiting patiently was the old man. He appeared to the cashier to be a mass of contradictions. He dressed in expensive clothes, typically a dark tweed overcoat and a hat that looked like the top of one of those English mail boxes, but they always looked as if they'd been put on hurriedly and without any care. Under the hat was a flowing mane of white hair and his ample face was surrounded by a long, white beard. Again these features would have given him a stately appearance had they not been tinged a tobacco stained yellow.

The old man reached the counter and set down a bottle of Johannsen's Rum. The two men greeted each other.

"Guten abend Lars"

"Moin Otto"

Another strange thought occurred to Lars as he watched his customer sort through his money. Though he always paid in change, typically in Euro and fifty cent pieces, there were sometimes larger coins of what he was almost certain must be solid gold mixed in with the rest. On several occasions he had come close to asking their origin but felt that it would be rude or greedy looking of him to enquire. Clearly the man was some sort of rich hermit or miser, forced out of his hiding place by desire for rum.

Their transaction complete, Lars prepared to shut up shop and Otto Sommer stepped out onto the streets of Flensburg, in the direction of home.

Home was a small muggle house crammed between two much larger buildings in an alleyway close to the harbour. Sommer had bought the house at the age of 40, shortly after becomming warden of Nurmengard. He had chosen a muggle home, considered an unusal decision by most, because he liked to keep up with what was going on in both the magical and non-magical worlds and Flensburg in particular because although it was an overwhelmingly muggle town, it still retained a small wizarding population, also near the harbour. As he approached the house he fumbled in his pockets for his keys and entered quickly. Although it was still the beginning of september it was already quite cold. There would be snow soon.

In the cramped hallway Sommer removed his overcoat and hat and hung them up. He shambled slowly into the sitting room, not noticing that a letter had been delivered to him by muggle post (he had never received a letter in this manner before). Once settled into an armchair in front of the fireplace he conjured a roaring fire and went about the nightly business of smoking, drinking his rum and keeping up with correspondence. Although somewhat disgraced in the eyes of the wizarding public his opinions and insight were still much sought after in the fields of science and criminal reform. On top of the pile was the bi-monthly letter from Professor Abdullah Latif, a noted magical linguist based in Damascus. "Smaller than usual" thought Sommer as he reached for the letter. So enthusiastic was Professor Latif that his letters were usually parcel sized and took days at a time to write (and even longer to read). By contrast this was extremely slim, only a few pages. Letter in hand, he leaned back in his armchair, put pipe to mouth and began reading:

_Otto,_

_The insights provided in your last letter have proved inspiring, perhaps more than you anticipated. As you know our discussion was focusing on the impact which the respective ancient languages have on spellcasting, more specifically; that the sound of the specific word has an effect on the outcome of the spell itself. _

_For the purposes of this discussion I have split the process into three specific "spellcasting stages". Let us say, for example, that I am casting a spell using classical Arabic. The first step is for me to say aloud the appropriate words, the second involves these words forming a picture in my head, a solid intent, and the third being the actual casting of the spell. In this case I wish for a stream of water to issue form my wand. I begin with the Arabic incantation "Mayia", the intention forms and the result is as expected._

_If you are to use the Latin "Aguamenti" we know that although the results will be almost identical, there will be a very slight difference. Even when we use a mental incantation the results are the same, because we are still __**thinking**__of the word in our respective languages in order to form the intent. __It has been previously thought that these minor differences were due to different disciplines growing up seperately of each other in different areas of the world, that the sound of the words themselves somehow influence the picture we form in out minds as we cast the spell. I am beginning to suspect that this is not the case at all._

_What I am theorising may seem a little beyond the pale but I implore you to keep an open mind. I am beginning to believe that incantation, whether spoken or otherwise, is unecessary to the practice of magic at all. I know what you must be thinking but read on; we know that magic runs in families (the muggles would say it is "genetic") and that muggles will have no magical apptitude, no matter how many incantations they repeat or how sincere they are in repeating them. Surely this alone points to the fact that the words themselves are__**completely useless**_

_We have been speaking our spells for time immemorial and they have brought to us such convenience that we have never bothered to ask __**why**__ they work or __**why**__we must speak them. Wizards the world over have been content to rest on their laurels for the most part, while the muggles have dragged themselves onto their own two feet with their own sciences and fields of study. On this point I think we must take our cue from the muggles and experiment, observe, gather data..._

Sommer read on and on. With each paragraph his friend seemed to grow more bold, so feverish with excitement that it was impossible to stop reading, or avoid being swept up in his enthusiasm, until he came to the last paragraph of the last page.

_I have decided that conventional sources will aid me only so much, even at this early stage. This very night I am leaving for the university at Hama to consult the Al Hazred book._

Sommer's blood turned to ice. The name of Al Hazred was not a well known one, but it inspired terror in all learned Wizards whose researches had taken them to the more esoteric and terrible of occult studies. Whereas before he had been intrigued by his friend's theory now he was only concerned for his welfare... and sanity. Only the very brave or the very mad consulted that awful book. He began to put the letter down, the last paragraph seeming to make very parchment it was written on throb with malevolence, when he noticed that there was more written on the back of the page. It was still Latif's handwriting, but it had been scrawled hastily.

_Trap_

_be careful they will...looking for you_

_don't know who_

_warn everyone_

_can't see wh..._

That was all. The rest was a mass of unintelligible lines. The room around Otto seemed to grow darker. The fire, still burning, seemed to emit no light. Those final scratchings were the only thing that existed for him now. His friend was surely dead, and he had almost certainly suffered greatly in his final moments. "The poor idiot" wailed Sommer, aloud, and as he did the letter in his hand crumbled to ash in his hand and scattered accross accross his chest. As he looked down at the remains of those cursed pages he saw that the ash was disappearing into his clothes, into his skin. But he had no time to puzzle over it as he was comsumed by another wave of the most intense grief he had ever felt.

And then Otto Sommer, the great adventurer and academic, drunk and sobbing, closed his eyes and died.


	6. Chapter 6

Crusade

The little muggle house was packed to the rafters with Aurors and experts, all scouring for some sign of what had happened to the deceased. It was becoming stuffy and hard to breathe in the sitting room. Reiner, who had given up trying to organise the throng some time ago, merely watched passively as people shouted over each other and cast conflicting forensic spells. Instead he leaned against the mantle piece, the heat in the room making his eyes grow heavy, and watched as those assembled did plenty while achieving nothing.

"WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE?"

Reiner jumped and then look up to the sitting room entrance. Esa Vuori stood in the doorway, his face cemented into sternness. Beside him stood his assistant, Karl Eisenberg. Both men were sweating. They had obviously arrived in a hurry. 'This is the last thing I need' thought Reiner before revealing himself.

"I am"

Vuori's eyes found their target and he marched accross the room, beginning an interrogation at once.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Of what?"

"Of _this_," replied Vuori sweeping a hand accross the sitting room. "This house is crammed with people, walking around aimlessly, probably destroying evidence"

He turned around and for the first time since he entered saw the body of his former master, still in the armchair he had died in. The corpse was surrounded by Aurors and others observing the condition in which it had passed, looking around it for evidence. The sight of so many inquisitive people poking and prodding around his former master was enough to send Vuori flying into a rage.

"OUT! EVERYBODY!"

They didn't need to be told twice and within seconds the room was clear. Although Vuori was a prison official he had in the past been on active service with the Aurorkorps, and still retained a high rank. Now only he, Eisenberg and Reiner remained. Vuori spoke.

"What have you found?"

"Nothing of consequence"

"Do you have any theories?" asked Vuori, his voice becomming a little strained.

"Look, I know you two were close, but honestly, it's cut and dry. The man was disgraced. He died next to a pile of correspondence from everywhere you can imagine, someone probably sent him a cursed item, or else..." Reiner gestured towards the half finished bottle of rum "..._that_ finished him off. It looks like he took the bottle quite hard after his dismissal. Either way we'll know for certain after the healers arrive to take him to the hospital."

It was clear that Reiner's words had not been pleasing.

"As of now I am taking over this investigation..."

Reiner looked like he wanted to interrupt but Vuori paid him no heed.

"...on the orders of the Chancellor. You are dismissed. You are advised not to speak of any aspect of this investigation until it is completed, as I'm sure you already know."

Reiner could think of nothing to say and simply turned to leave. He reached the sitting room door before turning around to speak.

"One more thing"

He took an unopened letter from his pocket

"We found this on the floor of the hall. It arrived by the muggle post. It may be insignigicant, he was big on muggle rights if I'm not mistaken, but you might want to take a look just in case"

With that Reiner turned once more and left.

Vuori surveyed the letter with some interest before his assistant spoke.

"What do you think vice-warden?"

"I think we got here just in time. Any longer and they could have destroyed everything, blundering idiots"

He looked at the letter again for some time, before giving Eisenberg his instructions.

"Go over the body with a fine toothed comb, I don't trust the healers. And check this room for any evidence no matter how small. Report back to my office tonight, I want at least one credible theory to present to the Chancellor tomorrow morning or our investigation could be as short lived as Reiner's was"

Vuori apparated back to his office in Nurmengard. He would not be taking up the position of acting warden, instead he would head up the investigation into Grindenwald's apparent disappearance and any connection it had to Sommer's death. Chancellor Eisenhut had been very pleased with Vuori's performance since the break-out. Mere days after Sommer's dismissal, when Vuori had informed him that he had already sent out certain trusted assosiates in a search of Grindelwald's old haunts the Chancellor had at once offered to give them official sanction, and gave Vuori the power to choose his own team of investigators.

Miraculously, news of Grindelwald's escape had not yet been discovered by the general wizarding public,it was only known that there had been a security lapse, but Otto Sommer's death was sure to draw curious eyes back to Nurmengard. If news of the escape were discovered there would be complete panic and for this reason the Chancellor had stepped up the pressure on Vuori's team to produce some concrete theories. Vuori was able to inform him that their prey had most certainly fled northern Europe. Furthermore, the agents searching several of the dark wizard's old haunts had come back with credible evidence pointing to locations in Greece and Britain. Of these two, Vuori informed the Chancellor, the latter seemed the most likely. Finally, after an initial report on Sommer's death, some sort of plan could be set into motion.

Now sitting behind his desk, Vuori began to read the muggle letter. He was astounded to see that the muggle writer had knowledge of occult works known to few, even in the wizarding world. How he could know such things, or even know enough about Otto Sommer to send him a letter Vuori could not guess, but that was unimportant right now. Anyway, the man was just a muggle and would most likely have little or no effect upon the mission at hand. This did not stop Vuori from memorising the return address, just in case.

_R. Carter_

_C/O Miskatonic University_

_Arkham, Massachusetts_

_United States of America_

He put the letter into his desk drawer as Eisenberg knocked and entered the room. He was followed by Fadnes and several others. Vuori forgot about the letter at once. It may have been a curiosity, but right now there was a mission to plan.


	7. Chapter 7

Return to Wizarding Britain

"Dinner will begin in ten minutes master!" Kreacher hurried away from the table and back to the range to oversee the cooking. Harry nodded, and continued reading Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland. In the seconds he stopped reading when turning the pages his thoughts would stray to the gleaming scarlet steam engine that would take him to school the next day, and when this happened his mouth would involuntarily break into a wide grin. He looked up from his book to the little house elf bounding around the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place. He took in the rest of the kitchen, which, like all other parts of the house, was now completely spotless.

Kreacher too, was like a new elf these days. Harry had given him his own room to replace the old cupboard he had once called home. There, he was free to hoard all the black family heirlooms he pleased including, to his endless delight, a large portrait of Walburga Black, mother of Sirius and Kreacher's former mistress. Harry and others had tried, with no avail, to counter the permanent sticking charm that had bound the portrait to it's former place near the hall but finally admitted defeat, opting instead to physically remove the section of the wall it was stuck to. Thus Kreacher, with the option to retire to his room of treasures at will, was more deliriously happy than Harry had ever seen a house elf.

Harry heard the sound of a herd of elephants tumbling down the stairs and assumed, correctly, that Ron was about to join him. He burst through the kitchen door and thrust himself into a chair accross the table from Harry, grinning. He had been like this for the entire week that Harry and the Weasleys had been staying in London. "Taking their time, aren't they?" said Ron, half smiling, half impatient. "I mean she's cutting it close, coming back the day before we school". "Have you ever had to travel to Australia to reverse a memory charm you put your parents?". "S'pose not" replied Ron, "What do you reckon her and McGonagall talked about on their way there?"

"Knitting patterns probably"

Their laughs stopped suddenly at the sound of the front door slamming. Seconds later the door to the kitchen opened and in walked Mrs. Weasley, followed by Ginny and then by a tanned, smiling Hermione. She and Ron threw themselves into each other's arms at once as the other two unfastened their travelling cloaks. Harry looked on from a short distance away, almost laughing at the sight of their zealous embrace. The pair quickly remembered that there were four sets of eyes in the room, and drew apart, looking suddenly like scolded children, but Harry could see the tolerant smile Mrs.Weasley wore as she turned to help Kreacher serve dinner. "Welcome back Hermione" said Harry, moving forward to hug her, "Parents all fixed up?". "Oh Harry, you wouldn't believe it, it was simply marvelous, I've got so much to tell..." "Come on everyone, dinner's ready" came the voice of Mrs. Weasley from the other side of the room "and leave those two seats free, Bill and Fleur said they'd be over".

Hermione's parents, it turned out, had arrived back in Britain weeks ago by plane, but she and Professor Mcgonagall had opted to take a tour of the wider wizarding world, stopping at various points in Asia and Europe. "Siam was fantastic" she gushed as Harry and Ron guzzled, "but it's much more of a spiritual thing over there, lots of meditation and claming spells. Syria was by far the best. We were in Damascus and then Hama, some of the experiments they do they're just...well, a bit scary really, but they're terribly interesting, and in Germany...". "Joo get us anyfing" interrupted Ron, battling with a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You'll have to wait and see Ronald."

Dinner was interupted by a knock on the door and Kreacher scuttled out and then back in a minute later, followed by a flustered looking Bill and Fleur. They greeted everyone and sat down to their plates. Fleur spoke. "Sorry we are late. There is a huge 'ullaballoo at ze bank and we 'ad to work late." "Group of Aurors coming in from the north" said Bill by way of further explanation. "Massive fund transfer, very high security. Everyone had to be there to make sure it went off without a hitch. Don't think I've ever seen anything like it since I started at Gringotts". Harry thought Hermione looked slightly dumbstruck by Bill's news, but she recovered quickly enough to begin firing questions at him. "Where in the North?". "Germany mostly, but there were some Norwegians in the party, and I think the head officer was Finnish. There were a lot of them either way". This seemed of great interest to Hermione, who looked ready to ask a thousand more questions but for another knock on the door, followed by the appearance of Mr.Weasely. "Hello Weasleys, Harry. Hermione! How are you?"

Hermione looked preoccupied throughout the rest of dinner and as soon as possible after it was finished she rushed upstairs, beckoning Harry, Ron and Ginny. She finally stopped in the landing outside Harry and Ron's room, the rest of the group panting as they caught up with her. "What's the big idea with legging it off like that" said Ron, crouching to regain his breath. "What's wrong Hermione" said Ginny "you looked a bit put out by what Bill was saying". "Yeah" added Harry, opening the door to the bedroom and strolling inside "whats wrong with big money transfers?".

"I was about to tell you before Bill and Fleur came in" replied Hermione, stepping into the bedroom, "about what was happening while we were in Germany. There was a _huge_ scandal there involving the warden of Nurmengard. He ended up getting fired over it. The papers weren't saying what this scandal was, but there were rumours everywhere of a breakout". "I'm still not getting it" said Harry, completely unaware of any significance this event might have. "Don't you see? If all those northern Aurors are over here, then it sort of confirms the rumour, doesn't it? There was a breakout, and they clearly beieve that the escapee is over here, if they're willing to transfer so much money and manpower". She began pacing, a worried expression on her face. Ron sat down on his bed and began to speak. "Fair enough, that sounds right and all, but why should we worry about it? I can't have anything to do with us can it?". Harry nodded in agreement and looked towards Hermione for her reply. "Well, that could be true, only..." she sat down on the bed beside Ron and started to bite her nails. "Look, I don't want to alarm you Harry, or cause a fuss". This sentence had the opposite effect on Harry, who now looked quite alarmed. "What is it?".

"It's just, well the story came out around the time I was there, but there was a delay from the time it occurred until the time the story broke. Presuming there was an escape from Nurmengard, it happened at the exact time that you saw _you know who_ there, when he went after Grindelwald. What if this person is after you Harry?". The bedroom went silent, Hermione looked tense. Then...

Harry was falling backwards onto his bed, laughing with relief. Ron and and Ginny joined in too. Hermione looked puzzled. "What's the matter? Don't you think this could be serious?" "To be honest...not really" said Harry, sitting up. "I mean, who do I know that was in prison in Nurmengard? Nowone". "Harry please, take this at least a little bit seriously. It's _too much_ of a coincidence that this happened while _you know who_ was there. I just think we should all be vigilant". "Maybe this person is just a fan of Harry, wants an autograph" said Ron. ignoring Hermione's pleading look. The other three tried desperately to hold back their laighter as Hermione stood up and stormed towards the door. "Fine. Believe what you want. _I'm_ going to bed". The laughter stopped. Ron jumped to his feet and followed her muttering something along the lines of "I'll say sorry to her...say goodnight".

Ginny also stood up from Ron's bed, but moved over to Harry instead, sitting down beside him. "Goodnight Harry" she said, leaning towards him.


End file.
